


Take (Some Time)

by euhemeria



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [46]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euhemeria/pseuds/euhemeria
Summary: Christmas with merry people is excruciating, but solitude suits Jesse even less.Or,Holidays bring back unpleasant memories for Jesse, so Angela invites him to spend time with her instead of celebrating.





	Take (Some Time)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for zac/3amsoda's birthday but then FORGOT ABT IT so this is like two months late lmfaoooo 
> 
> but yeah. here is a thing abt hating christmas and finding healthy friendships

Religion is important to soldiers, that much Jesse has learned in his first two years with Overwatch.  One of the first things he was asked, upon agreeing to join, was his religious affiliation, a question he still does not know if he answered correctly.  Then, he doubted the significance of it, did not see what difference it would make, were he to die in action, what shape the cross on his tombstone would be, and now, he still does not understand the importance, not fully, but he does understand a bit better, having been friends with Doctor Ziegler— _Angela_ , now—for long enough to have heard complaints from her about the myriad of ways in which assumptions of Christian morality interfere with her work and ability to simply be understood, having seen the way Ana seems to relax after prayer, having known a number of people with religious backgrounds and experiences which differ from his own.

Still, he tries not to think about religion too often, particularly not as it pertains to himself.

Most of the time, it is simple; if nothing else, Jesse is skilled at forgetting, and at pushing away that which is unpleasant to contemplate.  It helps that he has far better things to be doing than ruminating about his lack of observance, but in truth he has _always_ been able to distract himself from difficult moral questions—it made him a good outlaw, and makes him an even better soldier.

(Most of the time.  There are times, late at night, when he finds himself wondering what his mother’s god would think of him, and the things he has done—he knows that there are steps to absolution, penances and indulgences and a thousand, thousand confessions, and knows, too, that none of those things would lighten the guilt that weighs on his mind—but, then, what does he want of a god who could forgive his mother?)

Holidays are not so easy; even the most secular of observations is, at its core, not so, and brings with it, too, an unpleasant reminder of the holidays he endured in years previous.  When people wish him a Merry Christmas he does not want to complain, knows that the intent is good but still it remains that for Jesse Christmases are not merry at all, and he would much rather do without the reminder.

Naturally, when he finds himself invited to the Officers’ Holiday Party, he declines.  Although the copious amounts of free alcohol are a draw, there is only so much holiday spirit he can politely endure, and he would much rather not bring the mood down for everyone else.  This is the best course of action—he knows that—and yet he worries.

Christmas with merry people is excruciating, but solitude suits Jesse even less.

(Being a cowboy, he ought to be better at it.  After all, cattle driving is a lonely job, often made more so by the company, hard men with harder smiles afraid to show any emotion at all, lest it be seen as weakness; this much he learned from his father.  That life never suited Jesse, is part of what drove him to join the first gang which called itself his _family_ , but still he feels he ought to have learned something from it, ought to have something to show for all of the long lonely hours he spent in the sun.  But it did not, and he cannot stand to be alone.)

Last year’s holiday party was spent by himself, alone in the room he still had to share, drinking and trying his best not to think.  The second part at least ought to have been easy, but Christmas complicated matters, just as it is now.  By the time he was done, Angela—then only _Doctor Ziegler_ to him—had to help him to sober up, and while he was not quite badly enough off to necessitate telling their superiors what happened, he would rather they not repeat that experience.

Evidently Angela feels the same, and he finds himself invited to her new quarters, larger and in the women’s barrack, to pass the time. 

When she does not immediately answer the door, he thinks, for a moment, that he has the wrong room, but then he notices the little scroll posted at the doorframe, and knows that this must be the right quarters.  As far as he knows, Angela is the only one on base who observes the custom, although he has hardly known enough Jewish people in his life to know how prevalent it is. 

Really, he only knows Angela.

He is leaning closer to inspect it when the door opens, and the sudden movement makes him jump.

“Sorry,” Angela tells him, and then, “You’re early.”

“You said to be here at 18:45,” he points out, “I’m actually on time for once.”  He means it when he says _for once_ ; although he forces himself to arrive on time for official business, Jesse has never once been anything but late for a social call.

“I thought you’d be late,” she admits, “So I told you to come half an hour early.”

“ _Really_ , Angie?”

“Angie?” her nose wrinkles as she says it, obviously displeased.

“Ange?” he tries again, and hopes this nickname is more to her liking.

(Before, he just called her _Doc_ , and she did not appreciate it, particularly, but she never objected, either.  Now, he is trying to use her new name, because it makes her happy to hear it, and is an easy way to remind her that he supports her, but _Angela_ seems so formal, the accent foreign on his tongue.)

“Just Angela,” she tells him, and then, “If I wanted a shorter name, I would have chosen one.”

“That’s fair,” he says, and a moment of awkward silence follows.  “You gonna invite me in, or are we plannin’ on standing here til Amari comes and writes us up for fraternization?”

“You’re terrible,” Angela tells him, stepping to the side to allow him in.  “But she’ll be joining us in about half an hour, actually.”

“She knows I’ll be here?” Jesse doubts it would cause trouble, given their circumstances, would never have joked about it if he thought it might actually be a problem, but there _are_ rules about fraternization, and he knows that now that Angela is out, their meeting—a young man calling upon a woman in her quarters—is subject to greater scrutiny than it might have been before.  Given that he only just finished up a two year probationary period, the last thing he wants is any sort of trouble.

“Of course,” Angela laughs, “Inviting you was her idea.”

“Oh,” is all Jesse says.  He knows Captain Amari likes him, even _believes_ in him, for some reason, sees potential not only in his abilities but his character, but it still surprises him, every time.

( _Ungrateful_ , his mother called him, and _lazy_ and _disrespectful_.  Jesse can understand why Reyes wants to help him—he didn’t want to see another young Chicano handed a life sentence, feels some communal duty to help Jesse turn his life around—but what Captain Amari sees in him is a mystery.  She is not doing this out of some sense of responsibility to him, to community, to culture, but he cannot understand what, within himself, is worth the effort she puts in.)

There is a lull between them then, an uncertain silence.  Despite the fact that they are good friends, perhaps one another’s closest here, in Overwatch, conversation between them rarely flows smoothly.  In part this is due to their different backgrounds—between accents, education levels, and lived experiences, it can be difficult, sometimes, to say what they mean, and to be understood—but it is also true that neither of them is a particularly skilled conversationalist.  Angela is a strange person, to put it bluntly, difficult to get close to, and Jesse himself hardly has the experience necessary to bridge that emotional gap.

Sometimes, though—sometimes they can connect, and for then, it is worth it.

When they do, it is in a way strangely befitting their age, unlike so many other things in their life.  Much like teenagers the world over, ones who had _childhoods_ and _families_ and far more normal lives, they find themselves, in peaceful moments, seized by a sudden urge to confess, to say something which is not always poignant, not always profound, but always deeply personal, intimate in that in the moment their barriers are stripped back.

(Perhaps because of the season, Jesse’s mind catches on the word _confess_.  He wishes there were another term more suited, less connotative of a religion to which he no longer belongs, insofar as any former Catholic can ever escape the label.  His conversations with Angela are not that sort of confession, even if he now wonders if the urge to do so, to say what he has done and to be forgiven for it, comes from that root.)

They have had less opportunity to do so, of late, with him gone more frequently on Blackwatch-only missions, and her having moved all the way across base, but there is something which weighs on his mind, particularly when he accidentally starts to call her by the wrong name.

Theoretically, she knows he supports her, knows that he tries his best and wants for her to be happy, but it is one thing for him to say that—and to do his best to act on it—and another thing entirely to know that his support is not entirely born out of allyship, to know that it is instead solidarity within their shared community.

Surely, to know that would make her feel better; he knows what it is to be accepted for the first time in his life, knows how strange it feels, knows the fear that acceptance is conditional, is fleeting, is only going to last until someday people see the _truth_ of him and find him unworthy of caring for—it is something he feels every day in Overwatch.  If he could only tell her that he, too, is a part of her community, then perhaps she might worry less.

But he worries about his motivation—worries about the implications of coming out not because he is ready, but because he thinks it would make her more comfortable, and because he feels compelled to confess such things.  He worries, too, that he thinks of it as a confession.

(The first time, it was a confession in a truer sense, and he remembers how that went, his mother telling him that he would go to hell, if he ever acted upon his feelings, and his father simply pretending not to have heard.  Then, he was not even certain of whom and what he was, and already ashamed.  Now, he does not feel ready to risk such again.)

Angela would accept him, of course—she is much more open minded than many of the people he has known in his life, and he does not have to act tough around her, the way he did the men in Deadlock, the way he often does with the other Blackwatch members.  Even before transitioning, Angela never pretended to be macho in order to fit in with the other soldiers, she would not think him lesser or weak simply because he is sometimes attracted to men.  There would be no danger in coming out, no need to fear rejection, but still, the words stick in his throat every time he even considers bringing it up, starting a sentence with _I’m bi_ or _I had a boyfriend, back home,_ or any of a thousand ways he could begin the conversation.

(A month ago, he almost told her, was almost ready to say something, but then the _Merry Christmas_ ing began, and with it came the unpleasant reminder of how so many religious people feel about those like himself, and he thought, _not yet._ Not after what they asked of him last time, not after his mother told him he could feel as he would, so long as he did not ever act upon the things that made him happy.  Not yet.)

Fortunately, she breaks the silence for the both of them, and the desire to confess _something_ just to pass the time fades.  She wants to know what, precisely, happened on his last mission, wants him to explain what she has pieced together from incident reports and to reassure her that no, despite her worse suspicions, they have nothing to do with a _very coincidental_ meltdown of a contained Omnium Core.

For once, Blackwatch really did not have anything to do with the Omnium, and Jesse’s suspicious injuries are not so suspicious at all—merely stupid.

While Angela is surprised, if pleasantly so, to hear that Blackwatch is not responsible for the recent disturbances, she seems not at all surprised to hear that the origin of Jesse’s injuries was, in fact, his own unwillingness to think things through.  At least _she_ gets a laugh out of it.

From there, the tension fades, and they fall back into somewhat easier conversation.  She is Angela, now, yes, but she is still the same person whom Jesse befriended, and they still have a similar sense of humor, when he can warm her up enough to get her to show it.  He is still careful, still worries that he will say the wrong thing and, somehow, hurt her, but he realizes, then, that this is a different sort of carefulness than he is used to, is done not for fear of her reaction, but because he wants to make her happy.

(This is nothing like the Christmases of Jesse’s youth, having to speak carefully around his intoxicated mother, lest she find a reason to berate him for it, or sat in tense silence with his father, both of them trying not to make the situation more unpleasant, or, worst of all, being told that he was not allowed to react to anything his mother said, lest he set her off and make things awful for all of them, and have it be _his fault_.)

As she laughs at another of his tales—this time, when he tried the trick of extinguishing a bonfire with gasoline—and explains to him precisely where he went wrong, chemically, her way of showing him that she approves, he realizes that the urge to confess has faded, somewhat, because he does not _need_ to.  As she is, she is happy with him, trusts him, and he is not obliged to give any part of himself to be a better friend to her, and he no longer _wants_ , truly, to give of himself only for the pleasure of others.

They are friends, and they are equals—if not in rank, than in each other’s mind—and for the first time in a long time Jesse finds that he does not have to sacrifice his own happiness to appease others, does not feel the pressure do so, and does not _want_ to.

Despite it being the 25th, there is no Christmas to be had here, in these quarters, no exchanging of gifts or holiday spirit, no pressure from a faith that asked him to sever parts of himself to be a good Catholic, no force driving him to confess things when he does not want to, no need for any sacrifice at all, for the sake of other people.

This is not the sort of thought he should be having on Christmas, Jesse is sure, but he finds himself grateful that he will not be obliged to do anything for Angela’s sake—and knows he would never ask her to do so for him.  He has given enough in his lifetime already, and it is nice, finally, to be free of that expectation, to know that they are, both of them, content as they are.

It is something he would choose over any gift.

**Author's Note:**

> me, a jewish person, realizing that from his reflections panel its reasonable to infer that jesse doesnt like christmas: OH MOOD
> 
> anyway hope u all enjoyed... 
> 
> also if uve migrated to twitter lately, im [@pentilyet](http://www.twitter.com/pentilyet/)


End file.
